Out of Character
by noone2
Summary: Neal places himself in danger to right a wrong. So what's new right? Set mid season 1. Chapter 5 up
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: This is written for Sarah because I haven't been that good a friend lately. It has also inspired me to start writing again so hopefully my other dangling stories will also get finished now. It's a teaser and there is more to come. Let me know if you like it.- J

Disclaimer:- I do not own White collar. . .yada yada. . . this is just a tribute to a great idea in the hope that no one minds.

Summary:- Neal puts himself in danger to right a wrong- so what's new there right?

**Out of Character**

The phone disturbed his sleep, dragging him slowly to wakefulness. Working White Collar had made Agent Peter Burke slower to react to the early morning call out. It was rare that forgeries or art thefts were sufficiently urgent to drag him out of bed. He fumbled for the phone.

"Peter?" The voice was slightly breathy but unmistakeably Neal Caffrey.

What the hell? Why would Neal be ringing him at. . .Peter scrubbed his eyes and shifted so he could see the bedside clock "2.46," glowed in bright green at him. His mind was still sleep fuzzy so it took a moment longer for any emotion to kick in. Anger seemed to hit first. Why would. . .

"Peter?" Neal's voice again, uncharacteristically uncertain, and there was an underlying something. . . was that tension? Peter had been about to respond with the initial anger, had been ready to chew the younger man out for middle of the night phone calls but there was something in the way that Neal spoke, something that just wasn't. . . . Neal.

Peter's mind finally connected the memories, as the events of the last couple of days replayed in an instant of time in glorious Technicolor and his tone softened before he'd even spoken his first word.

"Neal, what is it? You need to talk?"

There was an almost laugh from the other end of the line, choked off. "No, I just. . .I just wanted to say I was sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, nothing in the last couple of days has been your fault." Peter shifted on the bed dropping his legs over the side as he used his free hand to pull himself free of the comforter. His head turned to look at Elizabeth as she shifted in her sleep, sensing his movement but she didn't waken. Peter turned his back to her and spoke a little quieter. If he could get away without waking her that would be good, not that she'd mind, she was always ready to support him, it was one of the many things he loved about her, but he tried not to abuse the privilege and he could probably handle this, could probably handle Neal on his own. . . probably.

Damn he wasn't good at this emotional crap, Elizabeth would. . .No, he would try it on his own first. "You don't need to be sorry for what happened," Peter reaffirmed, "None of us could have known. . ."

"I know that," Neal said, "and that's not what I'm sorry for."

"Then what. . .?" Peter asked as a handful of baby snakes started a dancing competition in his lower abdomen.

"I thought there'd be evidence, I really thought. . ."

"Neal what did you do?" Peter was standing and he'd taken a step away from the bed but he wasn't sure when or how. "Neal?" his voice was a little louder when Neal's instant response wasn't forthcoming, the snakes had been joined by some larger cousins and they were having a doozy of a party. He heard the sigh before Neal replied.

"It doesn't matter now," Neal stated and there was a defeat there that Peter had never heard from the younger man before, not even after he'd been sentenced and knew that he'd spend the next four years of his life in jail. Any number of nightmare scenarios tried to steal Peter's focus and between that and the serpent rave that was churning his insides he was finding it difficult to concentrate, especially since an urgent part of his brain was telling him that he needed to get dressed, that he needed to get to wherever Caffrey was and quickly because whatever was going on there was something very wrong.

"It does matter Neal, it matters very much." Peter trapped the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he pulled on his shirt and began fastening the buttons. "Now you tell me. . ."

"Look I don't have a lot of time," Neal interrupted, "And I just wanted to let you know that I was sorry, that if this doesn't pan out you shouldn't blame yourself, it was me that couldn't let it go and you warned me. . . ."

"Neal," it was Peter's turn to interrupt, "Please tell me you didn't go after Lightman. Please tell me. . ."

"Just make sure you find me Peter, You've always found me before, just promise me that you'll find me this time."

"Neal, you need to tell me just what the Hell is going on. I can't. . ."

"Peter, please, just promise me."

Peter drew in a breath there was something so plaintive in the younger man's tone that he couldn't. . . He'd stopped the frantic actions of trying to dress whilst still holding the phone. He closed his eyes. "I promise," he replied quietly.

"Thankyou," the single word was said with more sincerity than Peter had ever heard from Neal, the quietly added "for everything." More cutting than any goodbye could have been and even without a click he knew that Caffrey had cut off his phone.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .


	2. Light the Blue Touch Paper

Author's note:- oops there were a couple of ghastly errors in this which thanks to Enfleurage I've been able to fix- apologies if you read version 1 and it spoiled your enjoyment. That's what you get for writing somewhere where there is no internet access so you can't do that pesky fact checking, anyway here is version 2 hope it still works- J Ps let me know thanks.

**Chapter 2 Light the blue touch paper. . **

Neal held the phone for a moment staring at it. He was amazed at how good just talking to Peter had made him feel. Severing the connection had been the hardest thing he'd had to do since this whole damn mess had started. He swallowed and for just a moment wondered if he had time to back out, to stop this freight train before it hit him, maybe he could find another. . . No, he couldn't, and even if he wanted to it was almost certainly too late, had been from before he called Peter, had been from the moment he'd deliberately tripped the alarm. Calling Peter after that had taken precious time, time that he probably didn't have but it had been worth it. Worth it because now he knew that whatever sacrifices he made Peter would make sure that they were not made in vain.

No there was no way he was going to let himself pretend that everything he did wasn't deliberate. Sure he'd risked his life before, a lot actually since he'd started working with Peter but he never went in with that intention, never expected. . . but he did now, funny but somewhere he had crossed the line between playing the game and self-sacrifice and he'd never really seen himself as the self-sacrificing type. Still, he'd gone there and now he was going to find out the hard way just what all of this was going to cost. He'd learnt a lot over the years and he knew well that if you played with fire you got burned, and what he was about to play with wasn't just fire it was TNT. Light the blue touch paper get in a very fast car and retire to a safe distance, preferably after changing your name and leaving several false trails, but Neal wasn't about to do any of that. Light the blue touch paper, stand still and wait for the explosion, now that was just plain crazy, and Neal had never considered himself to be crazy either, a little theatrical maybe, risk taking- only when the risks were carefully calculated and the benefits worth it, crazy? never, not until now anyway. Now, what he was doing was certifiable, suicidal, if you wanted to commit suicide in a painful messy way, and a whole lot of other things besides. He really, really, really should cut and run and hope. . .

He stood up slowly, turned and set about making the careful search that he'd already carried out look a whole lot more messy. At least there was a little comfort in knowing that Peter would keep his promise. Neal Caffrey wouldn't just disappear, because Peter would find him, even if all there was left to find was a corpse.

WCWCWCWCWC

Peter stood still; the only movement was his arm dropping the phone away from his ear a little. It didn't drop all the way however, his mind too distracted to deal with the processing required to make his limbs move. Emotion and logic fought for control as he contemplated the myriad of things that Caffrey might have done, as well as all of the things that could happen to him for those myriad of actions. The only thing he was sure of was that somehow Neal had ignored everything from their conversation earlier that day and he had gone after Lightman alone.

Lightman was the worst sort of criminal, Peter was fairly sure that the man was a sociopath and if he hadn't had the backing of a huge organisation would have been locked up in an institution years ago, but Philip Lightman, his father had changed the family name from Llyumzhinov when he'd first arrived in the country with his new young family, was the head of a crime family from the Russian mafia that made the Italian mob look like girl scouts by comparison. There was no white collar crime in what they did, it was all guns and violence, protection rackets that involved the bloodiest of demonstrations to those that would not or could not pay, prostitution where the girls were held like prisoners to pay off their transit into the country. They were sold a dream of life in the US as free citizens. It was a dream that those who manipulated them had no intention of ever allowing to come true.

If there was something sordid, something violent, something that other criminals wouldn't contemplate because it was too grotesque, then the Lightman family would probably be involved. Everything these people did turned Peter's stomach and he was glad that it wasn't his job to go after them, because he would have happily admitted that they were out of his league. These boys were there for the organised crime unit to play with, and for once he'd been relieved to hand things over to them as soon as he found out that Lightman was involved.

There was no thought, no finesse in the crimes they committed, nothing that Peter could use his keen intellect on. Everything they were involved with was brutal and ugly and by rights neither he nor Neal Caffrey should ever have been involved in any case that also involved the Lightman family, except they had been, they were, because Neal had found Sam and Sam had been in trouble and Neal had promised to help him, but Neal couldn't be held to that promise because he couldn't have known. . .couldn't have stopped. . .Damn! Peter should have known that Neal wouldn't give this up.

"Peter?"

Peter looked up to see Elizabeth standing in front of him, it was obvious she'd been watching him. It was equally obvious that she was concerned.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to wake. . ."

"Nonsense," she interrupted dismissively. "Neal's in trouble isn't he?"

Peter nodded "Yes."

"Then you need to make your phone calls and finish getting dressed," she stated, handing him his pants. "I'll go make some coffee." She turned and headed for the bedroom door.

God he loved that woman. He focussed on the phone again and dialled, waiting impatiently while it connected. "Jones? Get to the office. I want the tracking data on Neal's anklet and. . ."

"I was just about to call you," Jones interrupted, "the anklet was cut forty minutes ago, we've got two units in the area where the signal went dead but so far nothing and. . ."

"Forty minutes?" Peter let his exasperation show. "How come I wasn't called sooner?"

There was an embarrassed pause from the other end of the line. "Somebody triggered a major alert over at the US Marshall's office. It looked like someone was accessing their database so even the techies were involved in tracing the hack. It was enough of a diversion. . ."

"That it took them time to notice the trigger on Neal going off." Peter finished for him,

"Classic misdirect," Jones agreed

Damn why did Caffrey have to be so good at what he did? He was going to have some tricky questions to answer from the Marshall's when they got him back, when not if. . .. "OK I'm on my way in. You need to pull everything we have on the Lightman family, wake people up, get them in, get me those files I want it all before I get there."

Peter could hear the swallow, could hear the incredulity and then the fear as Jones reacted. "Lightman? My God you don't think Neal. . "

"No, I don't think," Peter stated resignedly "I know," and there was an edge of guilt there because now that he thought about it he knew that he should have done something, tied Neal down, staked out the front of his apartment, even had him locked up again, something. "Look just get everything we have, I'll be there as soon as I can."

TO BE CONTINUED. . .


	3. Paper

Author's note: Sorry for the long delay, illness and exams always get in the way, for time line purposes this is set mid season 1 well before Out of the Box. Hope you enjoy. J

Chapter 3: Paper

Neal Caffrey wasn't a fighter; a runner, a charmer, a slippery eel, a conman, a thief, a thinker, there were many descriptors to apply but never a fighter, not in the true sense of the word, the one that applied to pugilists, to combat. He didn't have it in him, not that he would give up easily, that wasn't in his nature either but he would only ever think or con his way out of situations.

When truly cornered, when there was no other way out, then he would surrender gracefully, never even considering resorting to physical violence to secure his escape, or to secure anything else for that matter.

He could never actually remember having physically fought back. When he was a kid maybe, were there vague memories of frustration and fists, of anger that made him cry because he'd been too young to deal with the emotion? If there were then it was only vague, almost sense, memories, because Neal Caffrey had learnt from a very early age that fighting back just got you hurt worse, that there was far more to be gained from honey than from vinegar. Even as a child he'd had those open expressive eyes that had said trust me, guileless features that had made people want to protect, want to trust, want to help and so he had learned to exploit it, to protect himself with it. So he'd never had the need to resort to physical violence, until now.

As ever he'd considered his plan, looked at it from every angle, and, if he was totally honest with himself he'd known from the start that it would come to this. There had been a small maybe, a tiny hope that in his search he would turn up something, anything that would link Lightman or his organisation to Sam, that he could find some evidence that would make going any further into this unnecessary, that he could get justice for another young forger and conman, who reminded him so much of himself, by any other method than the course he had committed himself to, but realistically he had known that Lightman wouldn't be that careless, that even if he'd found something Peter wouldn't be able to use it to take Lightman down because he hadn't gone about it the right way, Peter's way, the only way the damned legal system would work, even when it wasn't right, it wasn't fair, it wasn't just. Still if he'd done it Peter's way from the start then Sam would still be alive, and wasn't that a bitter pill to swallow, because despite what he had told Peter on the phone, Neal knew, without a doubt, that it was his actions that had got Sam killed, that it was his fault, because if he'd chosen another path, if he'd told Peter everything from the start, then Sam would still be alive, but Neal, despite the problems he had sometimes caused, always had to go his own way first, hadn't yet learned where to draw the line with his own independence, his own unorthodox way of doing things. Despite his trust of Peter, he didn't always trust the system that Peter was a part of and because of that he'd brought Peter in too late, too late to save Sam, and now Neal felt the crushing weight of responsibility for the death of another. He had to put it right whatever it cost him. He had to put it right even if it meant behaving completely out of character to do so.

It had started when Peter had shown him the bonds, they were beautiful, perfect elegant, intricately etched in a way that no machine could yet duplicate, the layering, the colours, all perfect, flawless, and yet with that quintessential something that would still allow someone with a good enough eye, someone with an eye like Neal's to tell that they had been drawn by a man, not copied soullessly by some machine. Neal soon became lost in their beauty, in following the lines and patterns, the hours of painstaking work the. . .

"What? You got something?" Peter asked and Neal looked up slightly startled that he had telegraphed his thoughts so clearly, but then this was Peter and arguably Peter knew him better than he knew himself and so Neal knew that the only way to cover it was by confirming it, any denial would just make Peter suspicious. "Yes," he confirmed, "I think so," he looked back down at the bond his mind working rapidly, because he had to tell Peter something, preferably something that Peter's own experts hadn't already told him, but not of course, the thing that had truly made him react. That was something that he wanted more time with, more time to think about and to decide what to do. His mind worked rapidly as his eyes scanned back over the document. He had to find. . . "I think. . ."he said standing and moving round the desk as he continued to study the elaborately coloured paper, he moved to where he could grab the hand magnifier and focussed it on. . .yes there, he held back the sigh of relief as he focussed the magnifier on his find.

Peter had moved to stand beside him and was also staring down at the paper getting a side view through the magnifier as though if he just looked hard enough he'd see for himself what Neal had seen, but they both knew he wouldn't, not without a few more hours on the job or Neal's guidance. "What is it?" Peter asked again.

"There the watermark," Neal stated, pointing and shifting to the side so that Peter could get a better view.

Peter frowned, wondering why Neal had pointed out something so obvious. "The tech's have already checked that it's the Neustein mark. The paper's from the same place as the original bond, very rare, and very well guarded. No one's sure how the forgers got hold of it."

"That's just it, they didn't. Whoever did this is very, very good," Neal stated, allowing a little admiration to creep into his voice. "They didn't just forge the bond, they also made the paper." He picked it up and held it into the light. "The watermark is excellent, almost a perfect copy."

"Almost?" Peter asked, patiently.

Neal admired the workmanship for a moment more before putting it down again and placing it under the magnifier. "Look at the head of the lion."

Peter gazed through the magnifier, concentrating hard, Damn, it was only a tiny detail, and. . . . he moved the paper up and then down, yep it was only on one of the repeats of the pattern, but still how had they missed it? He turned to look at Neal.

"I'm pretty sure that in the original Neustein mark none of the lions are grinning," Neal stated, as Peter's gaze met his. "Still, it means we know one thing about our forger."

"What's that?"

"That he's got a sense of humour."

"And there I was thinking that you were going to say that he was as cocky as you were," Peter countered.

"Now Peter, that's unfair, I wouldn't do something like that."

"You wouldn't?"

"Nah," Neal looked down once more a mischievous twinkle in his eye, "I would have had the lion winking at you."

Peter allowed a slight smile at the comment, then made a mental note to check some of Neal's suspected forgeries for winking animals. His eyes narrowed in thought as he once again began thinking about the case. "Forging the paper, that's expensive and time consuming."

"Yeah, depending on how many security features the paper has" Neal confirmed, his own expression switching back to serious. "And generally more than a one man job if you want to do it right. It takes some specialist skills not to mention machinery to make paper this good with a watermark this intricate. It's often much easier to steal some of the paper stock or source it some other way rather than make your own."

"But if you wanted to. . .?" Peter asked

"I assume that you've run chemical and fibre checks on the paper?"

Peter nodded, "the whole nine yards, everything matches the Neustein stock we have on file."

"Then the first thing you're looking for is a leak in the Neustein security, no way you make the paper match without knowing details that only they would know."

Peter moved back to his desk and put out a call for a meeting he had some assignments to hand out.

"And then?" Peter asked.

"And then what?"

"What else would you need to forge the paper?"

Neal ignored the slight emphasis on the 'you'. "Peter I'm sure you have your own experts who. . ."

"Sure we do," Peter agreed. "And I'll put them on looking into how the paper was made too, but I want to know how you would do it."

"Why? So you can catch me if I ever try." It was said teasingly, but there was a slight bitter edge underlying the words, an acknowledgement of the difficulties inherent in their relationship. It was a challenge to Peter.

"No," Peter affirmed, dismissing the challenge with that single word. He allowed a short exasperated sigh before continuing, "because I've only ever seen hand forged bonds done this well once before. So I figure that makes the person who did them our best source of information on our new forger."

"Why Peter," Neal said, the trademark twinkle returning to his eye. "Flattery will get you everywhere."

Peter just gave him that look that said 'your charm won't work on me this time Caffrey.'

The look said it, it wasn't always true, but this time Neal wasn't ready to test it out.

"I'll make you a list," Neal stated, turning and heading for the door.

Peter had already picked up the phone again, when Neal stopped and turned, moving back to the document. He made it look like an afterthought, there was a chance that Peter might pick him up on it of he wasn't already distracted, or maybe if Caffrey wasn't so good at what he did. "Do you mind if I take this with me? See if there's anything else on it?"

"Knock yourself out," Peter said, waving dismissively as he connected with the tech team.

Neal waited until he was out of Peter's office and almost at his desk before he allowed the slight breath of relief to escape, nothing too overt, there were other trained observers in the office, but enough. Fooling people always kicked up his adrenaline, fooling Peter more than most. He tried not to do that these days, often didn't want to, because he wanted Peter to trust him and lying to him really wasn't the way to achieve that trust, but he needed a little more time with the message he'd seen before he brought Peter in. Needed to check that it was really there, needed to decipher the rest and decide what to do. After all it wasn't every day that you saw a message from a fellow forger, especially not one that read 'Help me.'

TO BE CONTINUED. . . .


	4. Need to Know

**Chapter 4: Need to Know.**

"Neal. . .Neal?" Peter let his concern show on the second repeat, Caffrey usually sensed him coming and was ready with a smart remark before he even reached his desk, but this time Peter couldn't seem to get his attention even though he was standing right in front of him. Neal still had the bond on his desk but he wasn't studying it any more instead he seemed to be staring into the middle distance lost in thought, and they must be deep thoughts too considering how much the kid's brow was furrowed. "Earth to Caffrey," Peter tried, waving his hand in front of the younger man's face.

Neal reacted with a start, giving himself a slight shake before looking up "Peter?"

"You okay?" Peter asked, allowing the concern to show again because at the very least Neal was a little off his game. "Or were you just planning another diabolical scheme?" he added attempting to lighten the mood from the serious look on the younger man's face.

"Now Peter you can say a lot about me but none of my schemes were ever diabolical." Neal pushed his chair a little back from his desk as Peter leant against it. "Anyway who are you Buzz Lightyear? No one uses phrases like that in the real world. You know that don't you?"

Peter shook his head, "Every supervillain I go after has been involved in a diabolical scheme of some kind."

Neal shook his head and smiled, and realised instantly that that was what this particular bit of banter from Peter was aimed at. "You're officially deluded you do know that?"

Peter just smiled affably before pointing at the bond. "You get anything else?"

"Other than a pounding headache," Neal asked, letting his brow furrow again and pinching the top of his nose. It was a skilful diversion from actually answering the question. "Guess it's a while since I've concentrated so hard on this much detail." He looked up at Peter. "Do you mind if I finish a bit early, come back to this fresh in the morning?"

"No, no, that's fine," Peter said studying the young man for a moment. "We're following up on the papermaking, should give us something, your list was a big help."

"Thanks," Neal said standing and putting on his jacket, taking great care to wince slightly and then appear to try to cover it.

Peter reacted to the overt demonstration of pain as Neal knew he would. "Are you going to be OK getting home I could drive you if. . . .

"Peter, I'll be fine it's just a headache, the walk will do me good, some fresh air will probably clear it."

"If you're sure."

Neal straightened his collar, "I'll try to get in early tomorrow to make up the time," he said looking apologetic.

"No need, just go, get some rest."

And didn't that look of concern and sympathy make it all the harder for Neal to turn and leave, because that was the other reason he didn't like scamming Peter, because Peter was one of damn few people in his life who genuinely cared, who actually gave a damn about him. The headache wasn't that hard to fake because dammit sometimes scamming Peter physically hurt.

As he walked away he almost turned back, almost. Part of him wanted to go back and tell Peter what he'd seen, tell Peter about the message and the coded location, but a stronger part of him made him go, because the message had asked for help and Neal wasn't sure that the person who had sent it needed Peter's particular brand of help and until he knew more. . .. So he was just going to check things out, see what the situation was, and if Peter needed to be brought in he could do that. He would do that, no harm no foul.

Anyway he hadn't actually lied to Peter; he just hadn't told him everything. It was a narrow distinction, but to Neal it was an important one. It was the one that allowed him to keep on walking.

WCWCWCWCWC

"So you lied to the suit," Mozzie stated. He was seated at Neal's table staring intently at their never ending game of chess and hoping to distract Neal from doing something stupid, not that it ever worked. Neal was Neal and he was going to do what he was going to do. All Mozzie could realistically do was help him in the hope that the outcome would be better that way. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't, Mozzie had given up on trying to predict which situation they were in at any given time, but he hadn't given up on dispensing advice, who knew one of these days Neal might even listen to him.

Neal turned from his pacing to stare at Mozzie's back. "I didn't lie; I just didn't tell Peter everything that I found."

Mozzie had picked up a chess piece and stopped mid move, "You keep telling yourself that."

Neal moved to the opposite side of the table. "So you think I should have told him without checking it out first."

Mozzie put the chess piece back down in its original position. "I don't think you should ever tell the suits anything ever," he stated, pausing to look Neal in the eye, "but I also don't think it's a good idea to go tracking down another forger on your own based on some cryptic clue in a forgery."

Neal flashed his best 'you'll do whatever I want because my smile is just that irresistible' smile.

"But you're going to do it anyway," Mozzie continued, "So what can I do to help?"

WCWCWCWCWC

The building was close to the edge of Neal's two mile radius, and was in a part of the city that Neal would probably never have come to even after several years of getting bored by the limited range of the invisible boundary to his freedom. It still amazed him that such run down areas could exist so close to areas where real estate could literally run to the tens, even hundreds of millions, but exist they did, like the motel that Peter had taken him to when he first got out of jail. It was the same in every major city in the world as though there had to be balance, the mega rich beautiful people's ying to the poor's dilapidated yang, existing side by side. Not that the contrast in Manhattan was the biggest Neal had ever come across. There was nothing as extreme as the shanty towns that you came across in the big cities in Africa, Asia and South America, but still the contrast was enough to make you do a double take and wonder if you'd been transported to another place, because surely the beautiful and expensive skyscrapers could not be such a short walk from such old run-down buildings where you'd be surprised if you didn't find rats and cockroaches rather than if you did, and whatever rent the landlords were charging it was way too high.

As ever Neal had done his best to do his homework on his target but it was difficult, this wasn't the sort of area where Neal was comfortable blending in, and it tested his acting abilities to the limit, not to mention his wardrobe because dressing down was the order of the day if he didn't want to stand out and attract an entourage of beggars and potential muggers. No, that was playing it too strong, Neal was sure that the odd tourist took a wrong turn, or even a deliberate walk down this way to see the 'real' New York and for the most part they would be fine, but they would stand out down here and Neal did not want to stand out. So he forced himself into a worn out looking pair of jeans, designer label carefully removed and a casual sweater, put on a cheap watch and a highly inappropriate woollen hat and cased the area, spending time looking at a street stall selling second hand books outside an old church, drinking coffee in a corner cafe that claimed to do the 'best salt beef sandwiches' in the whole of the city and browsing through ex-rental DVDs in a shop that was struggling to keep up with a market that changed its main sales format with increasing frequency from LP to tape to cd, VHS to DVD with a brief dance with laserdisc still littering a shelf in the back. With blu-ray and 3D technology coming along fast and internet sales stealing what little business they had and leaving them with unsalable stock it was a wonder the 'closing down' signs weren't already up.

After three hours Neal had what he needed, mostly. It wasn't enough really, another day at the whole 'checking it out' phase would have been better but he didn't have the luxury of time. Come morning he would have to know what he was going to tell Peter.

He pulled out his phone and hit speed dial 2 "Mozzie? OK here's what I need."

TO BE CONTINUED. . . .


	5. Chapter 5

Author's note 1: I'm trying to finish all of the stories I've started on here now that I'm getting my life back together. I hope that this chapter is enjoyable to those who read it. Thanks to all those of you who were supporting this story. Let me know what you think- J

Author's note 2: Ok for those who can remember that far back when I left off writing this we were in the middle of a flashback sequence which is going to explain why Neal is in the middle of doing something so 'out of character' and why he feels so damn guilty.

**Chapter 5: When it all goes wrong.**

Neal adjusted the metal framed spectacles so they sat a little unevenly on his face and then juggled the paper with the scribbled address and the package he was carrying so that they were in a more awkward carrying position, then he deliberately hyperventilated just long enough to make his breaths shallow and increase the perception of his nervousness.

It was something he had learned to do when he wanted to portray anxiety; his natural confidence in most situations had always been a barrier. It was as though there was an invisible aura surrounding him that coloured how people saw him despite how he acted. He used it to his advantage most of the time but there were definitely times when it got in the way. So he had learned little tricks, ways to fool other's perceptions of that invisible 'whatever it was'. Hyperventilating threw your system out just enough that people would sense something was off, then you just added the act on top and 'hey presto' a convincing case of nervousness that worked on every level.

Of course it could be dangerous if you hyperventilated for too long, it could dull your senses, make you lose focus, at worst black out completely, but Neal knew what he was doing. He slowed his breathing back to normal and ran his hand over his slicked back hair, taking a last glance at his reflection in the glass of a window, the heavy dark curtain behind it giving him a good view of the nervous nerd that now inhabited his skin. He was as ready as he'd ever be, one last nervous swallow, perfect. He turned and headed for the building across the street.

The door was answered on the second knock, his first had been deliberately tentative, the second a little stronger. It was answered by a large heavyset man, dark hair, late thirties. The man couldn't have screamed hired muscle more if he'd been hired as 'thug number 2' in an episode of an eighties detective series. His gruff "Yeah," gave him away as eastern European, the accent heavy even on that one word.

Neal, awkwardly moved his glasses and tried to scan the piece of paper in his hand, almost dropping his precious package in the process. Anyone who knew Neal would be amazed that someone who normally moved with such grace could display such clumsiness. Of course, anyone who knew him would also know it was all part of some elaborate con as well. Thug number 2, however just displayed impatience.

"What do you want?"

"Is this, apartment 4b in. . .apartment 4b in," Neal tried once again to juggle the piece of paper and adjust his glasses at the same time, only this time he was clutching the brown paper package much more tightly.

Thug number 2 snatched the paper from his hand, ripping it in the process. He glanced at it. "You've got the right place," he snapped, "Now what do you want."

"I.. I. .I. . er I have a delivery," Neal stuttered, proffering the package he held and making it clear that the thug's intimidating persona was actually working on him.

Thug number 2 eyed the package suspiciously then looked up again. "We are not expecting delivery. What is it?"

"Inks" Neal replied, still nervous, he pushed his spectacles back on his nose. "Highly specialised inks, I was told. . ." he paused, the thug wasn't listening. He was thinking, and such elaborate multitasking as listening and thinking at the same time was clearly beyond him. Neal watched as the synapses connected, this could be difficult if. . .

"Inks huh!" thug number 2 grabbed the package. "Okay, yes you can. . ."

"Please, please you need to be more careful," Neal made a grab back for the package pulling it away from the thug by shear virtue of the unexpectedness of the move, there was no question in Neal's mind that if the guy had really held onto it there was no way he would have taken it, let alone the nerdy weakling he was portraying, but he was selling the part, and weedy nerd who was stepping onto the wrong side of the law for the first time wasn't going to give up his precious package without a fight. It worked well, there was just the right amount of shock and surprise on thug number two's face to give Neal a chance to get to what, no whom, he wanted.

Neal grasped the package to his chest dusting it off and inspecting it as he babbled. "It's OK I don't think you. . .These are very fragile. . . very very expensive, if you knew what I did to. . . but they should be. . .that is if you handle them. . . I mean you shouldn't take them from me. You need to be more. . ." Neal looked up and swallowed, the expression on the thug's now attentive face could only be described as menacing. ". . .careful." he finished, just to fill the silence as he met thug number 2's gaze. He pushed his glasses back on his nose.

"Vlad?" the voice came from Neal's left and he gave a slight start as he turned. "You have problem?" Again the accent was heavy on the eastern European.

Thug number 2, Vlad, turned his gaze to the new arrival and took a small step back, relaxing his stance slightly. "Problem? No. No problem here Dimitri, this young man just came to deliver us some inks but now he does not seem to want to hand them over."

"I see," Dimitri said, scrutinising Neal as he moved towards him,

Neal held the precious package close to his chest, moving it almost imperceptibly away from the new arrival as he approached.

" Delivery boy does not want to deliver," Dimitri spoke slowly drawing out his words as he circled behind Neal, slow, deliberate, intimidating, "curious."

"I am not a delivery boy," Neal started with some indignence, but as he met Dimitri's gaze he appeared to lose what little nerve he had. "Look you don't understand. I was paid a lot of money to bring these inks here and show someone how to use them. They're highly specialised, highly," he paused looking first at Vlad then back at Dimitri, "secret," he finished, dropping his voice theatrically. "Very few people in the country know how to make the mix right for. . that is I'm one of the few people who could. . ." he paused again this time as though searching for the right word "advise on their use." He swallowed, giving the impression that he was bolstering his courage. "I can't just hand them over. I need to show whoever is going to use them how to use them. It's what I've been paid for, and much as I do not want to upset either of you. . " the pause was just the right length to be insulting if you had the intellect to understand the nuance, "gentlemen, I want to upset the person who paid me even less so if you could just. . ."

"Vlad," Dimitri interrupted him, he had apparently heard enough, "take him to Sam, let him show him how to use his precious inks."

Neal let out a sigh. "Thank you, you won;t be. . "

"You have half hour," Dimitri stated, focussing his attention back on Neal "then you will leave."It was clear that there would be no negotiating. He moved out of the way gesturing for Neal to pass. "Vlad will help you unpack your box." -code for, 'we will be checking the contents of that package no matter how precious it is to you.'

Neal nodded his assent. "Of course," he stated, breaking off his gaze as one who had been intimidated should, then he followed Vlad from the room.

He was escorted through two doors and then down a narrow corridor in a building that had clearly been a dump even when newly built, unfinished woodwork, bare brick, and then a poor paint job that was now flaking off in places. The door they stopped in front of had the only new looking items in the place, two new locks on the door. Vlad took out a set of keys, opening both locks slowly whilst Neal did his best to look nervous.

Then Vlad pushed the door open "Sam, you have visitor," he shouted, "He has brought some new inks for you." As he spoke Vlad turned and practically pushed Neal into the room before closing the door behind both of them

Sam pushed himself up from the wooden workbench where he had been working and turned to face them, regarding Neal curiously as he stepped forward. "Inks?" he asked his gaze resting on the parcel which Neal was still gripping protectively as he did his best to recover from the stumble the rough push had caused.

Neal met the younger man's gaze as it drifted up from the parcel and felt the instant connection as clear green eyes stared into his blue ones. Aside from the difference in eye colour Neal could have been looking at a younger version of himself, not that he'd ever had quite such an unruly mop of brown hair as the kid had, but then he'd also never been a prisoner of Eastern European thugs either so a few allowances on the personal grooming stakes could be allowed, but in other aspects Neal just knew they were a match, a boyish cuteness to Sam's features, even though he was clearly well on his way to manhood would give him the same advantages as Neal had always had, at least when it came to using his charm and Sam moved with a grace that was innate and not taught. Neal just knew from watching the young man take a few steps that he would be an excellent cat burglar, second story man, whatever you wanted to call it, Sam could be trained to do it and do it well, that's if he didn't know already, after all his forgery skills were already superlative, who knew what else was in his background.

Neal was about to answer the question about the inks but Vlad beat him to it. "The inks are special," he pointed at Neal "He needs to show you how you will use. You will listen and learn."

Sam's gaze switched to Vlad and Neal couldn't fail to notice the fear that flashed in his eyes before he covered it, trying as hard as Neal knew he would himself in a similar situation to appear indifferent to his captor. Neal wondered if Vlad was actually stupid enough to buy it, but one glance at the thug answered his question. No, Vlad was well aware of just how scared of him Sam was and more than that he enjoyed it.

Sam turned his attention back to Neal.

"I have some vermillion blue," Neal said, "It has special elements in it that allow it to be tracked, and certain . . .erm. . .documents use it. If you want to reproduce those documents then you have to include the correct tracking elements to find out where they are but you have to know what you're doing."

Sam stared at him for a moment and Neal caught the flicker of understanding, the guarded look towards Vlad to ensure that the man had no clue that Neal had just told him that he'd got his message and that he was here to help, but Vlad was oblivious, his education had clearly never run to knowing that vermilion was red, not that Neal was surprised, only art students and fashion officianados ever bothered to call red anything other than, well, red.

Sam gave the slightest of nods, almost imperceptible. "You'd better bring them over here," he said, leading Neal back to his workstation.

WCWCWCWC.

Neal's eyes caught the coloured flash from the emergency vehicle lights before they pulled round the corner and Neal knew at that point that he was too late, but he tried to cling to some hope, tried to deny. . .his brain trying to come up with alternative reasons why there would be. . .but there was no denying it, two squad cars, and a black SUV that Neal recognised as belonging to Jones were parked in front of the building that he'd been in only a few hours earlier and Neal knew that he couldn't deny. . . and then all semblance of regular thought disappeared as an icy cold slimed down his skin from head to toe and his insides dropped through a hole somewhere below the seat he was sitting on.

He didn't notice Peter getting out of the car, didn't notice him moving forward to talk to Jones, didn't realise that he too had exited the vehicle and was walking towards the old building, because really nothing was registering at all, his brain had ceased to function, there was no thought beyond primitive needs that seemed to be enough to make his body take action without any higher brain functions getting involved, because he needed to go inside, needed to see what. . .

He didn't even register the hand on his arm that stopped his forward motion, barely heard let alone recognised the concerned, "Neal" that was softly spoken beside him. It took two, maybe three, maybe four repeats from Peter each slightly louder, slightly more worried than the last, before the semi trance was broken. His first reaction was to look down at the hand that gripped his arm and then follow it back to its owner and to the concerned face of Peter who was staring at him, his brow wrinkled in that funny frown he had when he was trying to get inside Neal's mind.

"Neal," Peter said again, dropping the volume back now that Neal's attention seemed to be back with him "What's going on with you?"

Neal looked to the building and then back at Peter. "The guy we came here to help?" Neal asked, and saw some semblance of sympathy and understanding in Peter's eyes. Peter for his part was thinking that he should have figured it out, should have realised that Neal would be ahead of the game when it came to figuring out what had happened here. He shook his head. "PD was already here when Jones arrived to start the surveillance. They'd found a body in. . ."

"Apartment 4b." Neal completed for him. He shook loose Peter's grip. "I have to see," he stated and started moving forward again.

It took Peter a moment to react, usually Neal was all for avoiding seeing the bodies, in fact avoiding any type of violence at all if he could manage it, and from what Jones had told him this was definitely one to avoid, Peter himself wasn't looking forward to going inside and he'd got over being squeamish a long time ago, but at least a part of him understood Neal's reaction. Neal had been in early, had called him while he was still having breakfast with El and had told him that he'd found something on the manuscript. And that he needed him to get in as soon as possible, by the time he'd made it in Neal was already chomping at the bit to get moving and it had taken the young man a lot of self control to slow down his story enough so that Peter, Jones and Hughes could understand. Hidden in the intricate pattern were a series of blue dots that held a message, an address, the building they were standing in front of and the words 'Help me.' He had been impassioned in his plea that they organise help straight away, that out there, there was someone just like him and he had to be in big trouble to be sending such a message.

"People like me don't ask for help," Neal had stated, he'd looked Peter directly in the eye at that point, because he knew that he had to sell this without letting anyone know that he had already seen just how much trouble Sam was in, a slave for the Russian Mob who would kill him at the slightest excuse because he had already done what they wanted, the only reason he was still alive when Neal had visited was because he had convinced them that he could make them more money with another forgery, but Sam knew that that wasn't going to happen, because as good as he was the people he was giving the forgeries to were stupid and reckless and were going to get the operation blown by being too greedy. Sam was convinced that he was already living on borrowed time and he had begged Neal to help get him out of there, but the room they were in was in the centre of the building, no windows, only one door and the air vents were only big enough for rats and cockroaches. Vlad and Dimitri might not be that bright but they were heavily armed and violent by nature. No way Neal could see an easy way past them. No, he needed Peter's help on this one. He had left Sam with a promise, a promise that he would be back, a promise that he would get him out of there. Now he had to convince Peter without giving the game away. So he held Peter's gaze. "So if I asked you for help you'd know I really needed it."

Peter met Neal's intensity, felt some of Neal's empathy for the forger asking for help, for someone like Neal asking him for help. He turned to his boss. "We need to do this," he stated.

Hughes had watched the passionate exchange and couldn't help being moved by it himself, and after that the whole department had swung into motion like the well oiled machine that it was designed to be. Jones had left immediately to run surveillance to find out what they were dealing with and who it was that needed help while Peter had remained to coordinate the research into the building and organise the backup they would need if there was indeed someone who needed rescue. Neal had been practically dancing by the time they had left themselves, a pent up ball of nervous energy.

Peter, hadn't even tried to calm him, he understood all too well his young friend's empathy, or at least he thought he did, Peter was good at reading Neal, but Neal could be very emotional when something hit a nerve and this clearly had, a major nerve. Peter didn't know that Neal knew exactly how much like him Sam was or that he knew exactly how much danger the young man was in, because at the end of the day it probably wouldn't have made that much difference to Neal's need to help, to his need to save this one. This was the best type of con, the one that wasn't really a con at all because you really meant every word you said.

But it hadn't been enough. Neal hadn't done enough, hadn't brought help quick enough. He hadn't made it in time, and now he was left with a whole maelstrom of 'what ifs' and 'whydidn't I's that were going to haunt him. So now he had to see. . .

Peter had to break into a jog to catch up with him. "Neal, stop." But Neal didn't break stride. So Peter grabbed his arm again. "Neal!" He pulled the younger man round. "You don't need to go up there." Peter stated, "This has all the earmarks of a mob hit, it's probably not even going to be our case."

Neal met Peter's gaze, appreciating for a moment the concern he saw there, but then resenting it because he didn't deserve it, this was his fault, if only. . .He drew in a breath "I have to see," he repeated, and the slight desperation was there in his tone, they both heard it.

Peter stared at him for a moment, clearly trying to figure out if his next step was going to be to give in to Neal's request or to do his best to stop him for his own good. The moment dragged before Peter finally made his decision. "Get back in the car," he said, "I'll come and tell you what we find."

Neal nodded, "OK," he said and turned.

Peter watched him take a few steps. "Neal?" He turned back. "You're going to wait until I'm out of sight and follow me up anyway aren't you?"

Neal stared at him for a moment. "I have to. . ." he started, see what I've done, see what I'm responsible for, face up to the consequences of my actions, isn't that what you're always telling me to do Peter? But none of those thoughts made it to his lips, instead there was just a quiet, "Please, Peter, don't make me explain this."

Peter gave a short sigh, it went against all of his protective instincts but if Neal was determined to do this, to punish himself for something he couldn't have prevented, then Peter would do his best to help him through. He nodded, turned and started walking toward the building, Neal falling into step beside him.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .


End file.
